


increments

by neveroffanon



Series: jumping the gun [4]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Dean POV, dean still doesn't and never will understand beth, set between 2.12 and 2.13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveroffanon/pseuds/neveroffanon
Summary: After months of taking giant steps back, of leaping from the frying pan straight into the fire, Dean finally makes a choice that helps Beth and their children.  Of course, he manages to still be a pompous ass about it...





	increments

Sighing, he pushed the drawer of the dishwasher shut and bent to press it on. He swiped his fingers dry on his shirt, and cringed. The spaghetti sauce was cold, almost slimy. 

He looked down at it, the sauce and bits of meat and noodle still stuck to the polo. Was it worth it? Finding a job and getting fired all in the same day had been the straw that broke the camel’s back, but the looks the kids had given him through the rest of dinner had been way past uncomfortable. Janey had started sniffling at the table, and Danny had played with his food rather than eat it. Only Emma and Kenny had finished their food and with Kenny that was no good sign. 

Dean pulled the shirt free from his belt and tugged it over his head. It dangled from his fingertips, and he glared at it before balling it up and throwing it in the trash. He walked out of the kitchen, grumbling. _That stupid kid didn’t know what he’d lost._ He’d find another job, one that knew what sales was really about. Then Kenny could keep seeing the therapist. Dean groaned, stopping halfway to the stairs. Kenny’s therapist didn’t cost much. But the bills for the Krav Maga lessons and the math tutor and the ballet classes weren’t cheap. And the food and utilities and gas— all of that was piling up. He hadn’t paid attention to any of it in months, but if he and Beth were really going to split then he’d have to at least know where things stood. 

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and turned for the room he and Beth had shared. It felt weird, walking down the hallway he’d walked every night. The same pictures on the walls, the same scent— Beth’s perfume— shivered in the air. The same baskets of toys and books in the corners. But it was different. He shied from thinking about why, but Beth’s silence when Emma asked her what she wanted was stuck in his head. In his chest. 

Outside the door, Dean raised a hand to knock, a little proud of himself for remembering and then immediately, gut-wrenchingly pissed off. _It’s my house._ The thought ricocheted through his mind, almost drowning out the sound of Beth’s voice. He swallowed, pushing away the roar in his ears to listen. 

“It was like he was high or drunk, or I don’t know Ruby.” A silence fell, he could hear the rustle of a drawer opening. 

“We can’t afford to wait. You didn’t actually tell the lawyer anything right? Ok. Good. This is fine. Then all he can say is that you brought him the money. And that’s it.”

“Don’t let him take the deal. We still have a little time.” Her voice moved, like she was walking toward the bathroom, and Dean pushed his whole face against the door, ear squished and hot on the wood. He felt like a prick, but this was the most he’d heard in ages about whatever the hell it was Beth had gotten herself into. And he didn’t care anymore what Beth said about wanting to take care of the kids. She was gone— way off the deep end and into water so murky he couldn’t see the bottom. It was like there was nothing she wouldn’t do for that guy. He’d tell her to jump, and she’d ask how high.

“Wait. Annie’s calling. No, don’t hang up, just give me a sec.”

“What is it? I’m on the line with Ruby...” she trailed off, and then her voice lowered to a hiss.

“Marion... there’s an attic... how’d you... just don’t.” A door slammed, and Dean pulled away from the door, scratching at his neck. He wandered away back to the kitchen, and flopped onto a stool. He knew he’d only have to wait a minute, and like he’d summoned her, Beth came up the hall, peeled around the corner going toward the door, hair swinging and mouth tight. 

“What are you even doing?” Dean called to her back; she hadn’t noticed him in the darkened kitchen. “You know how late it is? The kids are going to be looking for you in the morning.”

She turned to look at him, hair bright in the dim light. The rest of her was covered in black, from her chin to her shoes. And the way she looked at him— it was like she was somewhere else. Like she wasn’t really seeing him. Just like when Emma had asked her what she wanted. 

“Are you going to see _him_?” He asked the question, proud of himself for asking it. For not letting the hurt show. 

“What?” She glanced toward the door and back at him. “What are you talking about Dean?” She shrugged on the jacket she’d been holding, and spoke while she buttoned it closed. “Look, I don’t have time for this right now. You can get the kids ready to go in the morning if I’m not here alright?” 

“Is this how it’s going to be? You phoning it in until all the kids are big enough to leave? I thought you loved them.” He waited, rubbed a hand over his chest. She took a step closer to him, and the blankness on her face was replaced with something that made him sit back against the counter. 

“Okay,” she sighed, and stepped close enough to him that he could feel her warmth. She laid a hand on his shoulder, “Dean, they’re my babies. And I’ll love them until the day I die. But if I don’t go right now,” her hand tightened, fingers gripping at the thin stuff of his undershirt, and Dean looked down at her hand and then back up into her face. “Then they’re not going to have a mother for much longer. And all the sweet wake up songs and crepes for breakfast in the world won’t heal that wound. So shut up and go to bed. Make the kids’ lunches tonight if you can’t sleep. And I’ll see you tomorrow.” She tilted her chin at him, and Dean brought himself to nod. 

“Good,” she turned away. Dean stared after her, mouth open to say something. Anything to make her turn around and not walk out the door. Before he could think of something, the door shut and the lock clicked shut. Her perfume and the warmth of her hand lingered. 

He got up, back creaking, and contemplated the kitchen, sweeping it with his eyes. He’d known it already. He’d seen how dead her eyes had become after he’d forced her to give up crime and the guy. He’d known when she’d signed the divorce papers without even a fight. He’d known when she’d been unable to answer their daughter’s question. His Beth was long gone. The woman in her place was someone he didn’t know. Even if her face was the same, her voice, her hair, she was a stranger. And he was going to have to be through with trying to get back the woman he’d married. 

Flicking the lights on again, he pulled out the lunchboxes from where Beth had stored them, tugging open the zippers with a little more force than he probably needed to use. The raucous _zip_ suited his mood. She could run to _him_ , or her sister or whatever the hell she was doing in the middle of the night if she wanted to. He’d be the responsible one, the one who took care of the family, if she couldn’t. And sooner or later, she’d realize that all the changes she’d made to herself, trying to mold herself into a new woman, were all pointless. No matter what reasons she gave for doing them. If she realized, _when_ she did, he’d be there. Taking care of their kids and ready to take care of her, too.

**Author's Note:**

> be gentle, i hate dean too...


End file.
